Not Tonight, Dear - a story of Liquid Castration
“Not Tonight, Dear”
by the Milk Maiden
The needle found its mark without fail, piercing his testicle without mercy. After the initial pop through the skin, it plunged smoothly inwards, ready to deliver its cruel contents. She had long awaited this day, when she would take total control of his orgasm, by denying it from him forever.
“You’ve got about ten minutes,” she informed her husband, who was secured to an old door straddled atop three short sawhorses a foot off the ground. There was no escaping this. Leather bonds held back his torso, limbs, head and waist. He could struggle all he wanted, it would only turn her on more and ensure the chemicals she injected coarsed through his veins that much quicker.
He had long known this day was coming. Six years ago, he had signed a contract with his wife. For the chance to cum once on her soles, he signed away his privilege to control hi own sexual destiny. His new wife presented him with a roadmap that would lead, without question or deviation, to his emasculation at her hands and feet. “The Cruel Contract,” as she called it. She reminded him of it every night before he serviced her. His anxiety fueled his eagerness to please her, and his tongue became well-acquainted with every wrinkled fold of her asshole.
He would face an ever-diminishing level of sexual satisfaction, before being denied any stimulation forever. First he would be allowed to jerk off every two months. Then every four. He last felt the warmth of his own hand two years in. After that he would only receive relief through milking, and each opportunity appeared further and further on the horizon. Closer to the dreaded date when he would no longer need to be milked, and when habit and addiction, not wishful dreaming of a pity orgasm, would keep him in line and at her feet.
“Ten minutes,” she repeated. “Remember the first time you fucked my ass?” It had been the only time. She was so tight and wet, and his cock so tormented. They were still dating, and for weeks she had teased him, giving him slow handjobs to nowhere and making him suck the sweat from her soles after her workouts. He had felt every vein in his cock as they slid across the puckered opening to her anus. Little did he dream he’d be forced to drink her lovers’ cum from that same hole, or that it would appear so bright in his mind here on the verge of losing any ability to penetrate it again.
The chemicals would make sure of that. What began with a slight sting at the injection site had grown into an increasing burning sensation as the minutes ticked by. His cock rose to attention, struggling to stay alive and desperate to fuck the woman who was killing it. She was naked. It had been years since he’d penetrated her, in any opening. But what he really wanted then was to fuck her feet. They were the first part of her he’d known, from the day he saw her dipping and dangling her flip-flops on a wall in the campus green. She refused to let him touch them. She knew their power, and she knew to hold back the prize from him. He grew to know their smell, their taste, their effect on his cock as it strained against hard plastic and metal. They were worth permanent denial, he was still convinced of that. His cock still throbbed to erection as the burn intensified, thinking back to the violent spurt of semen he launched across her wrinkled soles, sealing his sexual fate. He had only lasted about ten quick strokes.
She sat on a stool above him and dangled her feet in front of his face, his eyes watery with pain and sweat from his brow mixing in to blur his vision more. “They’re turning a little pink,” she told him. “Your balls. I think it’s quite an appropriate color for them.” She slid her sole down and dug it into his face, rubbing grime across him as her odor filled his nostrils. “Smell that? That’s the smell of denial.” She stood again, caressing her body, spending extra time pushing her tits together and giving him a good view. “Can you feel it yet? Is it harder to stay hard?” She giggled. “I told you you weren’t getting out of it. You bought the goods, you’re paying the price. I hope it was worth it for you. I always knew you couldn’t resist me. No man can.”
She sat down on the stool again, and checked her watch. Three minutes left, if that. “Tell ya what, honey. I’ll give you one last chance to shoot a load. On my feet, even.” His eyes widened. She reached for a bottle of lube she’d stashed nearby, evidence this was nothing but pre-planned. She squirted a liberal amount across each sole, individually. Running down the clock. Then she pressed the soles together and pumped down on his cock. It didn’t resist as much as she’d thought. The chemicals were doing their job.
“Can you cum for me, honey,” she asked in her sweetest girly voice. “Come on, baby, I know you want to. You’ve got one last load saved up just for me, the teasing little bitch goddess that’s killing your sex as I stroke. Give it up for me, come on, don’t try to fight it. Just let it all come out.”
It was maddeningly frustrating, her singsong taunting, her expert stroking, and the piercing pain that was beginning to give way to numbness beneath her feet. His cock was beginning to grow limper. He was running a race, between his last orgasm and the first of many frustrating evenings.
Frustration was winning.
Slish slosh, slish slosh. Up and down the length of his cock, her toes clenched together, her feet creating a warm, wet, neverending tube inviting his dick to fill it. It couldn’t.
She applied more lube, but his cock buckled beneath her soles. He wanted to cum harder than ever, but the numbness set in. His balls felt like mush. His cock lay across his stomach, visibly shrinking in the cool air. Her soles dripped with spent lube and nothing more. It was doubtful a drop ever escaped from his penis.
“Too bad, dear,” she said, reaching for a towel to wipe the lube off. “Looks like it went out with a whimper and not a bang. But I got off so many times I lost count, and that’s what really matters.” She turned around and squatted over his face, pulling her cheeks apart and exposing her puckered hole.
“Get to work,” she ordered. “Just because your sex is dead doesn’t mean I don’t have a lifetime of orgasms ahead of me.” She lowered her ass onto his mouth, and his tongue obediently went to work pleasuring her. Her pleasure would be all that he would know from here on out.
The Milk Maiden